Vengeance Rises from the Ashes
by Torrin-El
Summary: 'Looking at the house one last time, he grabbed a match. And as he walked up the porch and into the house for the last time, unshed tears pushing against the back of his eyes as he struck the match, the heat from the flame warming his skin. And slowly, closing his eyes, he let it slip from his fingers'


_They had taken away everything I had, my morals, my common sense, my purpose, my aspiration, stripping me of everything I once was to reveal what was truly underneath. What they hadn't realized, that it would be their undoing._

 **Vengeance Rises from the Ashes**

 **. . . . .**

He had been lost. He had fallen from his metaphorical grace, down into the dark abyss. If he hadn't been living a Grimm's life then he sure is now. All of what he was living for, gone, snatched away by his enemies. And dear God, his enemies, had taken away everything. The anger hadn't set in yet, he needed time to mourn first, and even if he didn't want to admit he was getting tired of mourning, tired of grieving for what he couldn't take back. Juliette was gone. His mother was gone. Everything tied to his future or present bloodline gone. It had torn at him, gnawing at the flesh and blood he had shed to keep them safe. He had completely and utterly failed. And dammit, he felt useless, faded, empty. Before, he had so much to live for. A potential future with Juliette, a potential family, an actual chance at life. And even if he didn't have Juliette he could've had a chance to catch up with his mom, go on the road, hunting _wesen_ that couldn't stand the mundane world. But no, no, those chances were ripped away from his grasp. And now he was desperately grasping at straws that were too far away from his reach. There was nothing left for him in this world. But he wouldn't go, not yet, no, he would get his revenge. The Royals, Black Claw, they wouldn't survive as long as he was alive, they wouldn't stand. They had taken away everything from him, it was time for him to return the favor. He had to be patient, wait for the time but in that time he would train. He would train his body harder, farther than it was now. And when his muscles grew weary he would sharpen his weapons, his axe, make more arrows for his crossbow. And when his weapons grew to sharp he would read, enhancing his knowledge on the _wesen_ he hadn't dreamed of. Yes, he would be ready. First he would hit the Royals, weakening their hold. When he took them down no one would be able to stop his onslaught on Black Claw. He had a mission now, a goal, all he had to do now was prepare for it. Enhancing his senses, improving his body, and sharpening his weapons. But he had one thing to do first.

Grabbing the last of what he needed he shoved it in the back of his cruiser before turning back towards his home. He had left his personal items in the house, only bringing what he needed for the journey ahead. Looking at the house one last time, he grabbed a match. And as he walked up the porch and into the house for the last time, unshed tears pushing against the back of his eyes as he struck the match, the heat from the flame warming his skin. And slowly, closing his eyes, he let it slip from his fingers.

 **. . .**

He had quit his job. The precinct called him multiple times about the fire, he told them to screw off and figure it out, resulting in calls from Hank and Wu, leading to calls from Monroe and Rosalee. He hadn't talked to either, not even sending them a text, just shucking his phone into the nearest lake. He wasn't surprised Trubel didn't call, call it _Grimm_ intuition but when a _Grimm_ had everything he had taken away, there was one simple solution to it all. Avenge it. Trubel knew, and he respected her for that. He felt a small pang of gratitude when he found a note in his truck after stopping for supplies, it said _, if you need me, you know where to find me_. Wasn't signed, but he knew it was her, only a Grimm could see the words. He had found an abandoned foundry, far away from the city and close to the forest. He wasn't surprised when he saw a car following him, quickly deducing that they were Black Claw, but it didn't matter who it was, they just gave him full right to defend himself. Quickly, he had disposed of their dead bodies in the woods, digging two holes took a couple of hours but he had got it done.

But it did take a while to clean the blood from his hands.

 **. . .**

Next day when he was stitching together the handle on his axe, clothed in a tank top, grease and perspiration gathering on his bare arms he was watching TV and something surprising crossed across his screen.

Sean Renard for Mayor, and behind him the leader of Black Claw.

Nick smiled, something dark and sinister behind it," Well, I'll be damned."

Then he knew, then and there, how he would break Sean Renard. He was already working on his first step.

 **. . .**

Chewing on some form of tough meat, he was finishing his installment of the dummies scattered around the basement. He had gotten a nice layout, dummies scattered in one section of the room, either decorated with indents of past abrasions or deep scratches from his axes. In the middle were weights and workout machines he had spent a couple of hundred dollars for from some guy on the corner. Possibly wasn't legal but what he was about to do, wasn't legal either. And on the left side was his workbench where he would craft, build, and read. It was a convenient setup. Something that took a couple of weeks to do but it was worth it.

And while he was finishing up, his ears ever so alert he heard of a familiar voice.

" _Thank you so much. It is an actual honor. I never thought I would've had this chance but I just want to thank all my supporters for I wouldn't be here without you. And I promise, I promise that I will clean up the streets of Portland I will make this a better place."_

Sean Renard's voice echoed through the room and Nick laughed a little, the irony getting to him. And before he knew it he found himself bent over laughing. It wasn't from humor though, something dark and malicious was spreading through him and his hand clasped the nearest axe before throwing it directly at the TV, the blade landing sharply on Renard's forehead.

 **. . .**

He had sold his cruiser, it hadn't gone for much but he had traded it in for a Dodge Charger. The dealer wasn't one for small talk which he was grateful for. The car was smooth, fast, and silently roaring. The dealer had guaranteed little secret compartments here and there and he took his sweet time finding all of them, placing small and large types of weapons inside. None of them would be able to track him anymore, only thing left of his past life was in the database. Which led to him to the next thing he had to do.

Men were weakened by guns and _wesen_ were weakened by dark eyes and sharp axes. He was born with one of those traits, and now, he had an endless supply of weapons, all things a _Grimm_ should have.

So as he sat behind the IT guy, gun cocked in his hand, safety off, thoughts churning through his head like butter, his physical emotions, everything that tied him to the weak man he used to be already beginning to fade.

"The-There it's d-done…Ca-Can you let-let me go?" The man stuttered, one of the few _Kehrseiten_ (humans) he had encountered in the past weeks. Nick leaned forward, eyeing his erased profile and he found his face hardening in an attempt to keep back the pain. To be honest, no he wasn't going to miss it; but he was going to miss what he did have. His life, it wasn't his anymore. Now he was given a chance to create his own, start from a clean slate, erasing what he used to have, what he used to be. Nick Burkhardt, the cop, the lover, the innocent, the warm-hearted was gone, erased by the quivering man before him. Nick Burkhardt the Grimm had arisen from the ashes with a fire to burn his enemies, the ones that had done him wrong.

"Thank you," Nick whispered softly before pulling the trigger, the man before him slumping lifelessly in his seat. Grabbing him by the collar, revealing his Black Claw alliance tattoo he shoved him onto the floor, the chair falling uselessly behind him. Nick began to rip at the cords of the computer used to efface him from the world. Nothing would trace back to him. He was a ghost now, free to haunt the Earth with the fury he possessed.

He walked out of the house, gun still in his hand, silencer extending the barrel, before shooting behind him, the bullet igniting the gasoline in the house.

He never felt stronger.

 **. . .**

"What I think you're doing is tremendously beautiful. Black Claw and the Royals? I bloody love it," Kenneth kicked in, his accent thick with satisfaction.

"Yeah, but the Resistance won't. They are going to try to hit harder and who knows were there alliances fall," Sean responded, taking a sip of the spiked coffee in his hand," They will try to grow stronger."

"Trust me when I say, they won't," The Prince had said, something dark and sadistic behind his voice," The Royals have taken heed to their actions and let's just say, they've had _enough_."

Sean nodded, smirk playing at his lips," I do believe that significant."

"And besides, your new role as _Mayor of Portland_ , I must say your control is ever so growing. Me the heir of Vienna, you the Mayor of this retched city, do you see how close we are to what we are to our goal?" Kenneth inhaled, sitting up in his seat with amazement. "All the hard work and effort we put into this…It is finally about to come true."

"It is, isn't?" Sean asked, a true smile writing itself on his face before it quickly dropped at the thought of something else. "And what of…the _Grimm_?"

Kenneth actually laughed, practically lurching out of his seat with humor," Nick Burkhardt? That Grimm? Oh, no need to worry about him."

Sean leaned forward a bit, quite skeptical," What do you mean?"

"I…," The Prince took on a more dark looked," Destroyed him, took everything he had. Slept with his lover in his own bed. Killed his mother. Beat him. As for the death of Juliette it is lost to me but he has nothing left. Breaking him was so easy that I actually felt sorry for the lad."

Sean didn't actually know whether to smile from gladness or grimace from what was to come.

"Well, anyway, I must go back to Vienna to handle some business. I will be back in a few days to support you in your campaign of course," He rose from his seat, buttoning up his jacket in the process," Goodbye and congrats."

 **. . .**

"Come on, I want to make it back to Vienna before nightfall," Kenneth ordered at his men before making his way into the limousine. The driver nodded, closing the door behind the Prince and making his way to the driver seat. Kenneth sat quietly in the back, patience not being one of his virtues as he pulled out his phone to check his messages. He had one message from an Adalind Schader and he smiled inwardly.

"You broke me, huh?"

Kenneth's face shot up, his gaze searching for the man behind the voice, only to see a dark silhouette across from him.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" He asked, fruitlessly attempting to dial his private bodyguards.

"Put the phone down, your highness," The silhouette had said, threat quite evident. Kenneth froze, placing the phone on the seat. He felt slight recognition hearing the voice and he sat up in his seat, his long legs ready to run if necessary.

"What do you want?" He asked cautiously.

"Revenge."

Next thing Kenneth knew was pitch black.

 **. . .**

The Prince woke with a jolt, sparks of electricity awakening him. Unconsciousness was evident in the way he woke, drowsy and a little light headed. He knew for sure he had a concussion but he didn't choose to focus on that, not now. There were more important matters at hand. He was bound, in a warehouse it seemed. Light was pooling in from the amount of windows decorating the wall beside him, filled with the images of a forest, tress everywhere and wildlife roaming. It was like a portrait with moving inspirations, it was gorgeous but the situation he was in was faded.

"Hello…?" He asked in the empty room, his voice being the only thing baring the empty room." Hello?!"

"Stop talking," A disembodied voice had said.

"What is this? Huh? Why are you doing this to me?" Kenneth asked, clearly trying to act not the least bit intimidated. The man, whoever he was, grabbed a chair and pulled it up across from the Prince, and then he got a good look as the sun's rays bounced off his blue eyes and dark face. "Nick Burkhardt?"

He didn't respond, just sat down.

"What are you doing? What is the p-?" He was interrupted by a low threatening voice.

 _"_ _The purpose?_ " He has asked, low grovel to his voice. Kenneth felt himself flinch back at the darkness in his voice. He watched the Grimm's eyes ignite to life, and he saw the urge to try and control himself. He didn't want to kill him. Not yet. "The Royals, who is leading them in their alliance with Black Claw?"

"Oh, so that is what this is about?" Kenneth asked, eyebrows raised and a slight smirk fighting its way across his face. Nick didn't answer, just kept his gaze stoic as he reached behind him for a knife before stabbing it directly in the Prince's leg. He shouted in pain, aggravated nerves shooting through him like bullets, his face contorted and twisted as waves of pain shot through his leg. Nick, on the other hand was calm, stern.

"Who is leading the Royals in their charge with Black Claw?" He asked again, a little more tension to his voice.

Kenneth choked out a sob of pain before setting his jaw with determination," Piss off, _Grimm_."

Nick sighed, a slight tang of happiness shooting through as he rose from his seat and walked towards him before shoving him back until his head was on a bucket. "You have exactly five minutes before this bucket fills with water, submerging your face and you can only assume what happens after that. I will stop it when you give me a name."

He resisted, gritting his teeth and waiting for death to claim him and Nick perched himself on the side of the wall, staring at something in his hand.

"Wow, you've really changed. I did a number on you didn't I?" He spat, sneering at the Grimm with all his spite. Nick looked up from whatever he was looking at and shot the royal bastard a dark glare. "You're mad."

He laughed, the Prince actually laughed.

Nick tilted his head, dark _Grimm_ eyes boring into Kenneth's brown ones.

"I get it, I really do, I mean I don't understand what you are going through but I understand your reaction. I took everything from you, corrupting it before I did. Bedding your lover, scaring your mother."

His jaw ticked.

"And I must admit, even though not the best at sex, your girlfriend really tried her hardest," Kenneth continued even though he should've taken the out when he got it.

"Shut up."

"And you should've seen the face of your mother when my men ran in there and I came in. Strong girl she was, didn't even cry, just whispered an apology to her little Nicky."

And at that he snapped, pulling Kenneth up with enough force that it broke the chair, before shoving him into the nearest wall. "SHUT UP! _SHUT UP!"_

His grip was tight on his throat, his voice roaring with a power to weaken multitudes of _wesen_. He looked terrible, broken, lost and Kenneth legitimately felt sorry for the man. He was being torn apart, ripped at the seams until there was nothing left but useless strings. It was taking a toll on him, his body may have grown stronger but his soul was growing weaker, being sucked into the unknown abyss of fruitless gains and emotionless strives. His eyes were empty, the bright burst of blue was now faded with reality, his skin had grown thick with pain, and his muscles were bigger with a desire to cause pain. But even if he had grown stronger and his abilities had grown wider none of it could ever accost to what he had turned into now. It was killing him, slowly and painfully, the memories of what had led up to this moment, and whatever led up to what he was about to do. Taking lives to redeem lives. He was giving it all up, his whole life, to avenge what he had lost. And it hurt him. He didn't cry. He didn't bury their bodies. He didn't clean up the blood. No, he just burned the _fucking_ house down.

They deserved more.

Tears burned against his eyes and in a hushed, broken tone, he said,"…Shut up… _please_." A tear broke through, breaking through the walls he had put up. Nick's head fell on Kenneth's chest, his throat growing weak from all the screams he was holding back, holding close in the hollow of his vocal cords.

"There are a lot of things that drive a man mad. What you are about to do is start a war. And war, being the father over all men, it can make gods, some men, others slaves, and some _free_. Please don't do this to yourself and end this tyranny here," Kenneth pleaded with him," You don't deserve to do this to yourself. You are a good man…You deserve the life a good, normal, man does."

Nick, who shook his head, beads of sweat growing on his forehead and his hair, which was neatly so combed stuck out at many angles, brought his head up from Kenneth's shoulder only to look him dead in the eyes, black eyes staring him down from his ludicrous height. "You took that chance away from me."

Nick grabbed the back of Kenneth's head before shoving it into the still filling bucket of water. "Give me a name."

The Prince struggled and fought valiantly to get out but Nick had grown stronger, sometimes forgetting his own newfound strength. He pulled his head out of the bucket. "Name."

Kenneth laughed," Fine. You want to do this to yourself? Be my guess. His name is Eric Renard, Crown Prince of Vienna and above him is Viktor Von Konigsburg, _King of Vienna._ "

Nick, who had grabbed his reigns pretty quickly kept his face emotionless but slight gratitude had crossed it, writing itself on his face," Thank you."

Kenneth had a smug, condescending look on his face, but even Nick could see through that. With his eyes he said more than his face ever could. _You're welcome. And I am sorry._

Nick paused, closed his eyes, and nodded, a feeling of content washing over him for a brief minute. With that Nick pulled Kenneth out of the bucket and sent his back up against the wall. Confusion coated his eyebrows as Nick walked over towards a table.

"I'm sorry too."

And slowly, Nick's cool calluses wrapped tightly around the warm axe handle.

 **. . .**

 _Vienna_

Almost all Royals, including King Viktor and Prince Eric sat at the dining hall, eating breakfast in the early morning, talking politics and all of the other sorts when one of the servants had arrived.

"Your highness'," He gathered their attention," There is a package for you here, sir."

"From?" The King asked, placing his napkin on the table.

"Doesn't say sir," He responded.

"Eric, if you will." Eric rose from his seat, throwing his napkin on the table. He grabbed the box and nodded the servant off. Soon he handed it to Viktor who inspected the item skeptically before opening and as he did so his eyes grew wide.

It was Prince Kenneth's head. And in his mouth, a note.

 _I am coming for you_.

 **. . .**

He was wearing the dummy out in front of him, music at a respectable volume around him. He couldn't stand the silence. It antagonizes him, setting him on edge. He saw it as a representation of what he had lost and what he had grown to be. It was honestly deafening. He didn't even go to sleep without the TV on, trying so desperately to drown out his own shadows but inevitably in the end he was roaring his pains into the pillow he lie on. There was no point in sleep anymore, he couldn't get any when he tried. Nightmares had haunted him, tainted his mind with horrifying thoughts of what was taken away from him. So instead of sleeping he would train his body, beyond its own extent. And when it grew tired, he went faster, harder, spending most of the time in the lower floor than he did the other three. When it came to the point where he couldn't move a muscle he would sit down, staring off into his own mindless oblivion, sweat melting off of him, listening to every single sound his ears could focus on.

With speed and an intended cross-hair he aimed his gun.

"You've caused quite the uproar."

Nick laughed a little, sweat gathering on his upturned lip," Meisner, nice to see you as always."

"Like the new place," Meisner stated, hands in his pockets," Saw the car, too. I must say-"

"You better not have touched my car," He huffed in response.

Nick's grip on the gun though didn't falter, didn't waver from its target. Meisner, staring down the end of the barrel smirked a little before spotting a bottle of Bacardi 151, he snatched it up with two glasses. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Bullshit, they've been dead for two months. If you were sorry you would've said it a long time ago," He responded, gun finally falling to Nick's side and Meisner took that as opportune to sit down in front of the man, setting the two glasses on the table before proceeding to pour. Nick looked at him in boredom, placing the tip of the barrel of the gun on the side of his head while watching the smooth golden liquid flow. "No ice."

Meisner gave a hearty laugh," Unlike the cold-blooded killer you are, I don't like mine dry."

With the gun he motioned where the ice was and Meisner got two cubes of ice before tossing them into the small glass, the clinking sound resonating through spacious room. Nick shook his head before taking a sip, Meisner doing so himself as well. The burning of liquor pouring down his throat woke him up from any exhaustion he had. It was good. Meisner thought so also when he reached for the bottle again.

"Hey, watch it, that's twenty dollars a sip you are drinking there," Nick commented, rubbing his head against the tip of the barrel. Meisner shot him a look.

"Where'd you get the money for this?"

Nick opened one eye, peering over at the man, still slouched in his chair," You don't want to know."

Respectable silence passed over them for a moment as the two took a sip from their drinks, watching a little TV when something interesting came on, or when Meisner got curious, he would look over at what Nick had built over time, silently appraising the man for all he had accomplished.

"So other than stealing my expensive liquor why are you here?" He asked, taking another sip from his glass.

"You were erased from the system. Curiosity got the best of me. You've grown stronger, better. When I came in here I hadn't expected quite a reaction out of you, I would've thought I could catch you by surprise. Seems I was wrong."

"...Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back."

Nick scoffed, clearly amused," You have a point there."

Meisner eyed the man for quite a minute, looking him over, seeing how much he had changed. Of course his body had changed, growing stronger and reacting faster. That was good, right? But he could also see the twitchiness of his limbs. The man couldn't stop moving, very antsy. And when he looked into his eyes he saw the familiar shade of emptiness, loneliness. He had secluded himself from society and mundane interactions. That was bound to affect him and it clearly did. Meisner could tell from the dark circles under his eyes that he was barely getting any sleep, fueled by the burn of alcohol and a drive for vengeance. But what he almost missed was the grief, there was so much anger and loneliness clouding his eyes that he could barely see the grief, that faded, annoying feeling of lost. He had a path but someone had tainted it, corrupting it.

So then, he had erased it.

"I knew your mother when she was younger, trained me. I also knew your father for a bit also. They were, uh, great people," He chipped in, taking another sip from his tumbler, and shooting Nick a small, hesitant gaze.

"You're here to brag about the childhood you had with _my parents too_?" Nick didn't say it out of anger. He said it out of desperation.

Meisner sighed," No, I'm here to say your mother took pride in you. Your father, even though for a short time, did also. And I know if she was here now she still would. She used to show me pictures of you and when I grew old enough she would have me spy on you from time to time. It was training and reassurement at the same time. And even though I didn't know you personally I grew fond of you also. Also, no, she didn't replace you with me. She just gave me an idol to look off of, even if you are younger than me."

"Your point?" Nick asked, impatience getting to him.

"She always told me _'You're a man now, boy'_ ," Meisner gave Nick a stern look of admiration," And I know for a fact that she would've wanted me to tell you…"

Nick who was previously looking down finally brought his gaze up, curiosity getting to him.

Meisner held up his glass, one sip left and urged Nick to pick up his own in toast.

" _You're a Grimm now, man_."

 **. . .**

The bastard had ended up visiting frequently. He would do whatever secret shit he did during the day and when it was near night he would come over. Nick grew irritated at first, minding the intrusion as if it were a break in but soon enough the man grew on him. He brought food and Nick provided the drinks and shelter. And even though the two were in frequent arguments over this and that, whether Nick could bench more or who could kick whose ass, it was all the same in the end. Meisner provided Nick with an actual human to talk to while he trained and built. Nick provided Meisner with a drinking buddy.

Win-win.

"Don't swing your hips when you punch, you are putting too much power into it that your opponent can take advantage," Meisner said, ducking his head when the Grimm swung. Nick, sweating from actually having an opponent did as told, keeping his hips steady as he swung.

Moving fast, Nick dodged a punch before getting on his hands and knees before attempting to sweep the man off his feet.

"Good form," He grunted, dodging some of Nick's onslaught.

Nick was getting better, he stopped focusing on his strength and started working on his fighting and speed.

"Develop a pattern, then when you get too comfortable with that pattern, break it and form a new one."

The Grimm followed swiftly developing a pattern of punches and kicks that made their way onto Meisner, ducking when the time called for it. "There's a masquerade ball tomorrow night. I'm going."

Nick ducked before punching underneath Meisner's arm," What? You want me to go as your date?"

Meisner laughed sarcastically," The Royals are going to be there."

Nick stopped smiling and paused, giving Meisner the opportune time to punch him directly in the face. "And never, _ever_ get distracted."

He scoffed in response, wiping the blood from his nose with his thumb with a wicked smile on his face. He deserved that, he wasn't paying any attention, with the music's bass thrumming through his head and everything that was swirling through his mind, he needed to focus.

"So, you want to go?"

Nick leveled a glare with him," Yes."

Meisner nodded, grabbing a tissue and handing it to him," How many do you plan to take out?"

"Two at best."

"It isn't going to be easy."

"Easier than we expect it to be."

Meisner's eyebrows came together in slight confusion," How's that?"

"They'll never see me coming."

 **. . .**

Nick rubbed at his stubble as both the ex-militia and he entered the building. It had been a while since he had groomed himself, combing and cutting his hair, and even shaving a little with a good amount of stubble left. He was wearing a black tuxedo, vest, slacks, tie, shirt, and socks. There was nothing special about the mask he bought, just black with little crested details in them. Meisner on the other hand, well Nick didn't know whether he was just trying to blend in or show out. His black suit was decorated with gold lines on his right side, he had on a black shirt, slacks, shoes as well, and a golden tie to top it all off. It was a grand ball to be honest, people dancing here and there, conversing with the rich folks and old folks, men of grandeur and ladies of delicacies. They were everywhere and what they were celebrating was lost to him but he didn't care. All he cared for was that there were two Royals here tonight, and they were going to die. Meisner was there for back up just in case things got out of hand. And things were bound to get out of hand. They always did. It was always somehow the convenience of the situation. More people pooled in and they stood at the side, weary of the incoming guest. Their eyes roamed over the dense crowd. Everyone had on some sort of mask, some sort of disguise or façade. Some, pretending to be mysterious strangers in the night, others flamboyantly parading around as someone extravagant and lavish. It was pathetic, really. Most of these people didn't have money anyway.

"I spot three Royals, heavily guarded, right balcony," Meisner stated, eyes still roaming for more. Nick looked over there discreetly, as if he was just curious. It was the former King, Frederick Renard, the now-ruling King, Viktor, and the Queen. Nick knew, he studied their faces for days, memorizing their beauty marks, catching up on their latest gossip, catching their imperfections. Yes, it was them.

"I spot the rest down here with us," He said, grabbing Nick's attention," Including our new Mayor."

"Didn't know if he was going to come or not," Nick commented, tapping Meisner on the arm and motioning towards the bar. He nodded and they proceeded towards said area. "Should've though, high council always comes to these things."

They had reached the bar, Nick ordering for them both.

"What's the plan, my friend?"

"Low profile, chat with as little people as possible, wait for the best moment to strike," Nick slid one drink over to Meisner and kept the other when the bartender had arrived. And as he was bringing the glass up to his lips, he froze. There, on the other side of the room, were Monroe and Rosalee, with them of course was Hank, Wu, Trubel, and surprisingly Bud. He knew it was them, even if they didn't have mask on, he could recognize them anywhere. All of them. They looked so happy. Without him. It had been a while, they've clearly moved on. He was glad even if he did have a little ache in chest that tightened at the thought of abandoning them. He couldn't, wouldn't blame them for his pain. It was his choice. His _obligation_. He had already killed enough people, taken away enough lives. This time, he could save some. They looked nice though, Bud in his ridiculous green tuxedo, Monroe in a tamed brown one, and Hank keeping it casual with a blue one. And the ladies, matching their respective partners, all in lovely silk or linen. They looked good. Happy. Content.

Meisner saw the looked at him before looking back over the crowd. "Trubel knows we're here, I told her to keep them out of the way."

"I'm happy for them," Nick said, simply, nodding into his tumbler," I don't want them getting into this. I've taken enough from their lives."

"Don't worry," He reassured in response," They are safe."

Nick's gaze didn't leave the group.

He had missed them.

 **. . .**

She nodded at a waiter as he passed by, grabbing her champagne flute with a seductive smile in play. He was cute, she had to admit.

"You know damn well he isn't your type."

"And why is that?"

"He's too innocent. He wouldn't be able to handle what you're thinking of offering. Besides you know you want to tap something a little more…Higher up in the political community," She rolled her eyes at Camilla who smugly sipped her champagne.

"Sean?" She asked casually in a innocence so true, she almost believed it.

Serena looked at Camilla, perplexed, before looking back at her," No shit."

"Bitch, don't act innocent with us. We know you re-sparked that eternal flame you two have. Mmm, I wouldn't mind to have one myself," Camilla looked directly at one man in the room, she had been eyeing his movements ever since he had gotten there. "I'm legitimately about to get myself in some sort of trial to get his yummy ass to defend me."

As she looked behind her to spot what she was looking at, her eyes widened," Anthony? Defense attorney, Anthony? You know his ass couldn't defend shit even if the accused was innocent."

"You need to go back watching soap operas," Serena interjected.

"Bitch, please," Camilla sassed.

"Besides, didn't you bring a date?" She asked, sipping from her flute in all types of alluring delicacy.

"You know damn straight her single ass didn't bring anybody," Serena again and Camilla shot her a look of utter disbelief.

"I did bring a date, thank you very much. I lost him about the same time we arrived. He was getting too tacky for me."

"Serena, what about you?" She inquired, not remembering seeing her friend with anybody. Camilla turned to her. Serena didn't respond, her gaze just shooting guiltily to Anthony.

"Holy shit, bitch, are you for real?"

Serena came to her own defense," Well I am sorry if I have a nice ass, alright."

"Good luck pulling Anthony's head out of it," She murmured into her drink and her gaze turned elsewhere as the two whores began to fight it out, verbally of course. Bitch here, slut there, they would work it out in the end. And as her gaze hovered over the crowd her eyes caught sight of something. A six foot, four inch representation of justice stood on the other side of the ballroom, talking to high social rank people she was sure but damn did she want to catch his attention. Turning back to her friends she contemplated leaving them for a brief minute to go talk to him but decided against it when they were getting ever so close to beating each other down. So she just settled for hot, lingering gaze, and she was surprised when she caught his gaze, a small upturn of his lips sent her the message that she wasn't alone.

"Ooh, look at our Adalind, getting it on," Camilla said, smirk on her face.

"I must admit sweetie eye sex is a bad thing that you don't need to be engaged in," Serena commented before getting the waiters attention for another drink," Trust me, I speak from experience."

Adalind rolled her eyes before turning back to Sean who was still looking at her haughtily. Now, deciding to leave the two instigators she began to make her way proudly but she didn't get far. She had bumped into a very large and broad chest.

"Excuse me," A voice of harmony and bliss echoed through her ears and vibrated through whoever's chest she was now hugging. He had grabbed her arms to steady them both but soon let go to continue his way.

"Who is _that_?" She heard the familiar voice of Camilla and she rushed to see who she was talking about until something crossed her mind. That voice, it was so familiar and smooth, she remembered getting into many quick witted arguments with it and her gaze shot up.

"…Nick?"

He stopped walking and tensed before swiftly turning around, blue, hardened eyes landing on her. With his eyebrow raised, he eyed her figure up and down. She was wearing a black schaffen dress. A lacy corset graced her bodice, enhancing no only her hips but her breast also. The rest of the dress flowed swiftly behind her, black lace over lapping black silk. She was gorgeous, absolutely alluring. And he found himself staring at her a short period of time, drinking her all in like the brandy he had just consumed. Somehow he sought himself another. He soon collected himself, easing his rush and smoothing his calloused hand firmly over the front of his suit.

"Mrs. Schade?" He asked through grit teeth, bowing slightly on the tips of his toes. His anger swelled for a beat before rapidly decreasing. He couldn't put on a show or alert anyone. He would have to tame himself for the time being, blend into the crowd. Even if that meant conversing with Adalind Schade and her companions.

Adalind's brows furrowed in confusion, she had never gotten such reaction from him, especially a polite one. She could barely even recognize the man for one. His hair was flipped back, tamed by some sort of gel. He had grown some stubble on his jaw, accenting its sharpness, and those eyes, which she found herself getting lost in, had grown devilishly charming.

"It's, uh, nice seeing you." Describing Adalind as flabbergasted would be an understatement; but for the time being, she went along.

"Yes, it's been a long time."

His calm, reserved gaze shifted over her again, blue eyes darkening," Too long."

For some odd reason she found herself taking a step closer and she was surprised out of the reaction she had gotten. He leaned down slightly, face getting closer to her own. He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving her. She was challenging him and she wanted to see if he was brazen enough to do something. And some part of her hoped he was.

"…Uh, hello? Adalind you going to be a bitch and keep him to yourself?" The familiar voice of Serena didn't break what they were sharing but out of politeness Nick's gaze shot up to greet the two, giving her a moment to analyze his face. This must've been the guy they were looking at earlier cause there was no one else in eyeshot she could see that held a candle to him. He had changed, a lot. He was bulkier, tamed hair for one, stubble coating his face, and the look of a _Grimm_.

"You know my friends, Camilla and Serena."

"Sorry," He said, all smooth and suave," Haven't had the pleasure."

"No, the pleasure is all mine," Serena walked up to him, slutty strive in play. He held his hand out to take her own in a polite shake but was taken a little aback when she gave him a hug, hands not so subtly brushing against his ass, and her lips ghosting over his jawbone," Serena Dunbrooke, at your service."

Nick gave her a meaningful look, as if he was actually up for the offer," Thank you, Mrs. Dunbrooke."

"No problem, handsome, and please call me Serena," Serena turned swiftly, her dark locks brushing against his neck and her ass grazing his crotch. He didn't even react, heated gaze just finding Adalind, and she, feeling his heated gaze, looked up to catch his gaze. It held for a moment before breaking, unfortunately as the other woman began to approach him, sticking out her hand for pleasantries. He stared at it for a beat, not sure on how to approach it. He hadn't made human contact in a while, excluding Meisner.

"Camilla Gotlieb, and you are?" Her condescending tone was obvious but didn't deter his confidence. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, immediately bringing her spirits up. Adalind rolled her eyes.

He looked between all three, a small smirk placing itself on his face, "Nick Burkhardt."

"The Detective?"

"Ex." Adalind's eyebrows rose from this. So the rumors were true, the man had died and the Grimm had arisen from the ashes. She could see those dark eyes right now, the need to kill being his only purpose now. She had to admit, she was a little turned on. Years of hatred turning into sexual tension. It would make sense, even in her books. And just testing the water, she used her powers, bringing him slightly closer to her while shoving the other two aside. The two immediately _wogued_ into their _Hexenbiest_ form and looked at her; she in response _wogued_ as well to the point where to no _Kehrseiten_ could not see them.

Nick eyed them all with a stoic and care free ease, hands instinctively reaching for the karambit knife in his back pocket but as he was reaching for it something caught his eye. Anton Krug, cousin to the Prince, was moving towards a private stair case. This was his opportunity and he wasn't about to miss it.

"S'Cuse me, ladies," He said smoothly, pushing his way through the crowd and already on his way towards the staircase. The three _Hexenbiest_ _wogued_ back to their human forms, and enjoyed the rear view of Nick's ass.

"Damn, he is fine," Camilla took an innocent sip of champagne.

"I thought you hated him, you know? Being a Grimm and all," Adalind took a sip as well, eyes never leaving his form.

"I honestly don't even care anymore, he is the perfect size, tight ass, and a chiseled jaw that would even make me swoon," She admitted.

"And what happened to Sean?" Serena asked.

"What Sean?" Camilla bit her lip, eyes still roaming over the ex-detective. "I mean Sean is big and all but Nick has the face of a Nubian Prince. Honestly, would you rather have a mayor or a natural badass whose house trained?"

Adalind looked him over once more, plans running through her head like wolves," You have a point there."

 **. . .**

Nick hauled himself up on the balcony, the climb not being that difficult. Meisner had taught him to climb, scaling the trees outside of the foundry, and sometimes scaling the foundry itself. Swinging his legs over the railing he landed swiftly on the marble floors of the grand balcony, taking heed of his surroundings before drifting out of the tense stance of a secure landing. He made his way around, peaking through corners and weaving through corridors. He knew Anton was near, he could smell a broad expanse of highly expensive cologne. And as he walked down the side of the balcony, shadows hiding him, he felt something coming to him. Immediately, bracing his body for impact, he looked over to see Anton approaching him with full speed. He had rammed Nick into a column and luckily not over the edge of the railing. Nick caught the breath he had loss, elbowing Anton in the back until he lost his grip, giving Nick the opportune time to spin them both around. Anton quickly pushed him off but the _Grimm_ came back, full force. Nick punched the man before dodging a hit himself. Applying what Meisner had taught him, he dodged, bending backwards until he had to catch himself. Next, he let one foot slip, catching it onto the back of Anton's ankle, causing him to fall. Nick automatically shot up to aid his journey on the way down with a punch to the face. Anton's head bounced off the marble floors and Nick watched as the blood began to pool.

One down, one more to go.

"Corridor 3, clear," Shit, he tilted his head before hopping up on the ledge and hiding behind a column," Wai-"

The security paused in shock, blood coloring his black boots. Nick quietly jumped down and approached from the back but before he knew it the man had _wogued_. Nick recognized it as a _Lowen_ before instinctively swiping the blade across its neck. It fell down, lifeless, before it _wogued_ back to its human form.

For some reason, he felt the need to apologize. This man wasn't supposed to die, he didn't have to. It was collateral but yet he felt regret flourish throughout him like the blood running through his veins. But then, as his eyes found the other body, Anton Krug, ex cousin to the prince, he didn't find himself feeling as bad.

He could live with it.

 **. . .**

Adalind walked down the hallway, intention in her step. She had left the ladies to go to the bathroom but in the process, found herself being followed. It was male, obviously. Serena and Camilla were to busy ogling to follow her, and they wouldn't go to such a low. Yes, she knew who was following her. The old Royal pervert, Frederick Renard, the retired King of Vienna. She could smell his inebriation from her position, and it sent a disgusted chill down her spine. She could hear the stumble of his body shuffling through the hallways as if he was that light. She had met him once or twice, the old bastard always looking for women younger than him. Too young. No one had known of his late night activities, going to brothels and such of that sort but she did. And she was honestly nauseated. But she couldn't beat the old man, he was a _Zauberbiest_ just like his grandson but older, with stronger powers. She was at a crossroad.

"Mrs. Schade," He said drunkenly, wobbling between the center of the hallway and the wall," You look quite ravishing tonight."

"And you look quite drunk but there's nothing we can do about that specific detail, now can we?"

"Quite a minx, you are," He laughed, hand over his belly," I love myself a minx."

"But I don't love a man over ten years older than myself," She shot back, smirk in place.

She found herself being forced against a wall by an invisible force while he _wogued_. She naturally _wogued_ in response, her _Hexenbiest_ taking over by instinct. She was not about to be subdued by a male, it wasn't in her nature. And she wasn't about to cry, that wasn't in her nature either. He walked up towards her, aroused sneer in his eye. Trying to use her own powers to defy his own, she tried to pry herself from the wall but it worked to no avail. "You are such a pretty girl."

His fingers roamed over the side of her cheek and the flesh automatically recoiled. She gritted her teeth before using her powers to snap one of his fingers, twisting it at such an angle it made her wince at her own brutality. He roared in anger and frustration, closing an old, weathered, hand over her throat.

"Don't mak-"His sentence was abruptly interrupted when someone grabbed the back of his head and threw him against the adjacent wall. The Royal _Zauberbiest_ sneered but was kicked in the face, his head bouncing viciously on the concrete wall. Adalind was suddenly ripped from the wall as his powers had dissipated when confronted. Frederick refused to stay down, so whoever kicked him in the face did it again, harder, but it was fruitless, he wobbled back up, using his powers to send the man flying.

"Oh," The ex-King spat, blood coloring his _wogued_ features," Seems you brought a date."

He walked back up to her, forcing her against the wall again before crushing his body against hers. Adalind rolled her eyes, attempting so valiantly to free herself from Frederick. Though before he could lay a single finger on her, he paused, eyes rolling dangerously to the back of his head. The man, who she recognized, had stabbed a karambit knife in his spine. Unbeknownst to the man, _Zauberbiest_ don't die that easily. Frederick had grabbed the knife from his back and scratched a line into the man's neck. He gritted his teeth, nerves throbbing in pain at the aggravation but that didn't deter him. Grabbing an extra knife from his back pocket he turned towards Frederick before stabbing him repeatedly, over and over again until blood stained his black gloves, painting his features with plasma. Adalind stared at the _Grimm_ , shocked by his brutality. Frederick was most definitely dead now, but what he was engaging in was over-kill.

"Nick," She said, still trying to get used to his name on her lips. He didn't stop, just continuing his assault on the corpse. He was clearly angry, the sadistic desires of a _Grimm_ probably setting in but she could see it was something else. "Nick!"

She used her powers to force him up, he immediately recoiled and shot towards her but stopped inches short. A security officer must have heard the commotion because he immediately ran towards Nick after spotting the dead Royal. Nick reacted immediately, dodging from the first swing, catching his arm, breaking it, before snapping his neck. Adalind stepped forward, shoving him against the wall.

His eyes shot towards her, cold, empty, dark eyes. There was a warning in his eyes, an implicit threat but she didn't back down. He shoved past her but she had grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket which in response, he shoved her against the wall. He grabbed her by the base of her head, leveling a glare with her. She questioned whether to ask him about his behavior, whether to try and decipher his code, but the way he looked at her ceased the need. The answers were in his eyes, his cold, empty, eyes.

Dark blue fused with light blue, mixing in a fury of hatred and heat.

"Can't I say thank you for my rescue?" She asks, and he can see the sarcasm.

"It wasn't a rescue," He said, nothing but anger behind his words, nothing else," You were just lucky he was a Royal."

By the glint in her eyes he would say she figured it out. He was taking out the Royals. " Please, it's not in your nature-."

"If I grip you any harder I could snap your spine," He says and she automatically shuts up. His head tilts and his eyes are searching hers for something but he can't seem to find it and he's so desperately grasping for it. His grip on her doesn't grow tighter, neither does it waver. He's sure and if she makes a move he could easily kill her, but she could see it. He finds something and then and there he doesn't want to kill her. He doesn't care to hurt her but he could as easily if he wanted to kill her. She wasn't scared but she didn't want to die. It was a natural human reaction, to shy away from the eminent grasp of death. Seems she was taking heed to her human side, using it to her advantage. Flurries of emotions were coursing through her, anger, lust, hatred, and a small taste of desire. The small amount of space they had left, she had quickly taken up. He tilted his head at her actions but only brought his full lips to her own.

"I could scream," She whispered so only his sharp ears could hear.

"You wouldn't dare," He responded casually, shifting himself against her.

She smiled wickedly, gathering herself on her toes to reach his height," Try me."

His hands shot down to her hips where he hitched her up farther up on the wall, eliciting a gasp from her lips which was followed by another smirk. His emotionless gaze roamed over her, trying to find so desperately at what had caused such a reaction from himself. It was unnatural. Adalind didn't care, as her plump lips grazed his own and her hands tugging on his jacket lapels. Her hands slid up his chest, up the column of his throat, scratching lightly at his stubble covered jawbone, before reaching for his mask. Her nimble fingers and sharply manicured nails played with the edge, toying with his boundaries. His eyes never left hers, holding her in an intense battle of the odds. She slowly plucked the mask off, revealing his sculptured face. Throwing his mask aside, she brought herself impossibly closer to him. And as soon as her lips were about to capture his he let her go, retreating far back enough to where they both could breathe their own oxygen.

He was in fascination of his own reactions, he shouldn't be doing this with her, playing her games, falling under her seduction. He was stronger than that but he never felt so weak under her gaze. He needed to get away, hide himself from the light to remind himself of the darkness.

Quickly, he grabbed his mask and placed it back over his face. He gave the ex-King one last look before walking quickly towards the stairs.

"It would be wise not to stay," He said smoothly, eyes directed down the staircase. Her eyes on the other hand were locked on him, watching as his jaw flexed with quite frustration and as his body grew stiff with an edge only a _Grimm_ could have. Finally, after a beat, he looked at her before descending ever so gracefully down the steps and towards the ballroom.

She followed behind but setting her own pace, eyes never leaving the back of his head.

" _Grimm_ ," She scoffed, hatred pouring her words.

" _Hexenbiest_ ," He responded, smirk playing over his taut lips, façade in play. They parted but not without a last glance at each other.

 **. . .**

"How'd it go?" Meisner asked, sipping on some sort of brown tonic.

"Two collaterals," Nick sighed in response, waving for the bartender," And one witness."

Meisner's eyes shot to him," Who?"

He gritted his teeth," Adalind Schade."

Meisner sighed in frustration," What do you thin-?"

"I will handle it," Nick grounded out, snatching Meisner's drink and tossing it back, the burn which poured down his throat set him ablaze.

…

"Oh, what happened to you, honey?" Serena asked, still nurturing that champagne flute as if it was her life line.

Adalind sighed, distress pouring of out of her body like perspiration. She had just witnessed two people get murdered, one Royal, by a _Grimm_ , to say she was breathless was an understatement. Her eyes raked over the crowd, ignoring Camilla and Serena's vain attempts to get a response from her. She could sense his presence; he was near, not close but in her respective orbit. Her gaze switched from mask to mask, trying so desperately to find those dark eyes. Her search was abruptly interrupted when someone grabbed her by the hand.

"Adalind," Sean Renard, walked up to her, blue tuxedo, and a colorful masks," Hi."

"Well, hello, Mr. Mayor," Camilla interjected, and both Adalind and Serena shot her a look, one filled with agitation and the other, humor. He nodded to them both in acknowledgement before turning back to Adalind who was still searching.

"I was wondering if you would accompany me t-," He was interrupted by an unfamiliar feminine voice.

"Hey, sweetie, was wondering if you wanted to dance," She was pert red head with a red dress that coated all her curves but a laced mask that brought out her cheek bones. All three _Hexenbiest_ were practically loathing.

Sean turned to her for a brief moment before answering," I was just about to ask, Mrs. Schade here, if she wanted to dance."

"Well, I bet with her looks and all she can find someone," The woman responded," Oh, and I am sorry, my name is Rachel Wood, soon to be Renard."

"Camilla Gotleib," She held out her hand in a lame handshake, clearly a little jealous. Serena soon stepped up, a condescending smile on her face. "Serena Dunbrooke."

"Adalind Schade," She forced a smile, trying to force her eyes to stay still," Pleasure."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Rachel said not so sweetly, making sure to flash her engagement ring to all three," If you don't mind, Sean and I must be going."

Sean shot her a quick, apologetic look before proceeding towards the dance floor. Adalind looked at her friends, whose gaze appeared to be eyeing something else, something behind her.

"Dance with me," He whispered in her ear, his voice light with ease, and she jumped lightly at the warm breath tickling the side of her face before turning around to see the _Grimm_. His eyes which roamed over her bore intensely into her own. She wanted to laugh at his audacity but the way he was looking her over subsided all of her humor, only raising her curiosity but what she was feeling right now, was beyond curious. He held out his hand and before her mind could even fathom the thought of taking it, her own hand slid on top of his. Her lips let out a sharp exhale at the contact, eliciting his eyes downward. He didn't move for a moment, just trying to register the igniting feel of her skin connecting to his. It was questioning and unfamiliar all at the same time, beyond what he thought he would feel when he touched her. His thoughts compared to reality seemed unghastly. Bowing his head in slight gesture towards her friends he acquainted her towards the dance floor. The music began, the play of crescendos and decrescendos, the commands of andantes and legatos, and the feel of the orchestra beneath your feet. Even though the dance had already started, people still attempting to find suitable partners and things of the sort, Adalind could not take her eyes off of Renard, who was chatting quite happily with Rachel.

Nick, who had noticed and hadn't cared for her other affairs, dipped into her view, eyes up, head bowed, "I can't promise to be as good a dancer as Renard but I can promise to make it worth your while."

Adalind looked to him, her ears trying to decipher his words and her eyes trying to decipher his emotions. She could say for sure, he didn't mean a damn word he was saying. He had different means, a different agenda. And maybe, she could find out.

Grabbing his outstretched hand and gripping his shoulder, his other hand doing the same to her hip, they began to dance. It was in an eloquent fashion, Adalind was more experienced than he but seemed somewhat adequate even though he kept looking at his feet every so often, drawing out slight aggravation from her.

"Stop looking at your feet, people are going to think you are looking down my dress," She murmured in his ear and his eyes cut to the side of her head.

"Would you honestly be offended by the latter?" He asked and she pierced the tip of his shoe with her heel, resulting in Nick gripping her a little harder. She was clearly frustrated with the obvious and he, needing the confirmation of her secrecy delved a little more. "So…"

He cleared his throat and she raised an eyebrow.

"What's, uh, going on between you and the Mayor?" It was odd, not addressing Renard by 'Captain' but the man had become a stranger, no longer on the side they once were on, together. No, Sean had strayed from the path before corrupting his own. It honestly hurt, being betrayed by someone you had known for so long, someone you had depended on, actually developed a connection with. It hurt but day would soon come when he would feel his vengeance.

"You don't care," She answered dismissively and he grounded his teeth at her stubbornness.

"I don't but it seems to be affecting our present predicament."

She sighed when he spun her around before enrapturing her back in his embrace. "He and I are having an affair…"

He processed that information, his anger for the man being overwhelmed by pure curiosity. Then a thought occurred in his head, he could use Adalind's close connection with Sean as a benefit to his own agenda. Bringing her closer to him, his eyes roamed over the room, spotting familiar jaws and hair styles. Meisner had found a dance partner, Camilla, it seems. They met eyes for about a second before Nick automatically turned back towards his dance partner.

"What actually makes it an affair?" He asked, standing taller and firmer. Now that he knew Adalind was useful, he gave her his full and undivided attention.

Adalind rolled her eyes as she swayed in his arms," He's getting married."

This was new information and he found himself aware of the all the people Renard had encountered, looking over the crowd he found Sean and some other woman dancing like irretrievable lovers, reminding him of a faded memory.

"What's her name?" His voice cracked a little, and he was scared if she noticed. He had been good the past the few days, keeping his emotions in control, not betraying a single fleeting of heart break on his face, just plain stoic and emptiness. That mask seemed to be growing weary, and beginning to crack.

"Rachel Wood," He added her name to the list.

"Thank you," It was softly portrayed but enough that her ears could hear it and she nodded at him skeptically," There was a reason I needed to dance with you."

"I was waiting for that," She said sarcastically dismissive, encouraging him to lean forward slightly, only to whisper discreetly in her ear.

"I need assurance you won't tell anyone of our previous situation," He said, his stubble tickling her cheek.

She moved her head from his shoulder to look at him," You mean when you killed a Royal and highly known security agent?"

He gritted his teeth before crushing her form against his own," Yes, and I need your silence."

"You got it," She said, no hesitance. He was surprised by her statement before he found her still staring at Sean Renard and Rachel Wood. He could see that she honestly didn't care about him killing a Royal, two by that matter, but it just didn't concern her as much as her love for him did. Love, he made the assumption but he could see it in her eyes, the glint of light when she looked at the man. He knew because that is what he saw in the mirror before they died. She was growing lost in her own sea of hopelessness. She wished that he had taken her up on his arm instead of this Rachel Wood, that he would show her out in public as some sort of prize, some sort of luxurious item rare to the world and its people. Like a Goddess. He had known once upon a time ago how she felt and empathy had crossed him. And he desperately began to clutch on to something to erase the feeling.

"Jealousy doesn't suite you," It barged out of his lips like bile but it got her attention, and that's what mattered to him.

"Empty moral indignation doesn't suite you," She responded and he tilted his head with a small amused smile. He was growing fantasized by her, their conversations were never this friendly and he found himself enjoying it a little more than he should have. But like all the decently good moments it ended too soon, Meisner had caught his eye and nodded towards the door. His smile faded slowly and slowly, his grasp on her grew at ease. Reality had come back into play, reminding him of what he needed to do.

"I'm assuming you have to go," She said, pursing her lips and if he didn't see it with his eyes he would say she was disappointed.

"In about two seconds."

A body fell from the center balcony with a rope around its neck. It was Frederick Renard.

"I'll see you around, Adalind," His lips twitched upwards as he dipped down to give her a quick kiss on her hand.

He hadn't seen her for weeks.

 **. . .**

Boyd punched him in the face, his head snapping in the direction of the given force. Slowly, his head turned back towards him.

"Tell us what you are getting at _Grimm_."

Boyd Baribeau, Detective from the North Precinct, _Hundjager,_ partner to Kate Masters, a _Phansigar_ , and both members to the Black Claw. Yeah, Nick had studied him, he studied both of them. He had grown skeptical of the two when they began to show increasing amounts of violence towards their perps around the time Black Claw had made their debut. It was obvious from the start, really. Their not so discreet meetings with shady characters and brutal violence against _Kehrseiten_ attracted his curious attention. And it seems they were curious about him too, which led him to now.

He gathered all the blood in his mouth before spitting it on the ground. Boyd's eyes followed with slight agitation. The woman next to him, Kate, smiled, her crooked teeth showing. She gave Boyd a knife.

The man was creative.

 **. . .**

Nick limped up and out of his seat, the two dead bodies lying useless on the ground. The damage was severe, he would need multiple stitches but he found himself less worried than he should be. It was a distraction, a distraction from the monotonous, dull, ache that gnawed at him. He was grateful for the small things.

Bringing the stolen phone to his ear, bloody fingers caressing the side of his cut ear," Hey, Meisner, you know how to sow?"

 **. . .**

His wounds ached with the push and pull of his clothes against his thick skin. It didn't deter him from the objective though. Prince Eric Renard was a smooth fellow, all Royal swag, and charm. The man was utterly a facetious, narcissistic, condescending, self-loathing, judgmental Royal asshole. It was simple really. Nick didn't like the bastard, so as the Prince strode down the side walk, girl on each arm, he found himself seething with an inextinguishable fire that drowned out all the other nonexistent emotions. He had already dealt with the Royal Guards, their bodies lying somewhere in Lake Abert. It was his time now. Pulling the hood over his head, scarf over his nose, he rounded the corner, axe swinging violently in his hand.

Eric pauses and the two tipsy women stop with him, jerking at his free hands until they take notice of their guest.

"Leave," The two women aren't drunk enough that they can't comprehend what he is saying so they run. Eric internally winces when the women jerk away from him, their warm touch dissipating from his body and being consumed by fear. "You know who I am?"

It takes him a moment but the Prince nods hesitantly, tears beginning to break loose.

"You know what I am about to do?" He swung the axe for emphasis.

The Prince nodded again.

"Do you have a reason for me to let you live?"

"…No."

 **. . .**

"Thank you."

"No problem, come back any time."

The customer walked off, satisfied, before the other came up, hat covering his eyes and hood covering most of his features. Rosalee nonetheless greeted him with a smile even if he did look quite skeptical.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She said, warm, content smile gracing her features. The stranger found himself hesitant.

"Herbs? For, uh, healing purposes?" The stranger asked, hands shoved deep into his pockets with his head down. Rosalee was still not deterred by him, keeping a happy smile in place as she thought for any solutions. He stood there for a moment, stock still, hidden eyes never leaving her face only to look around if something might have caught his attention and something did. He heard laughter from the other room, closed off by a faded and weary red curtain. "Sorry, am I, uh, interrupting something?"

It was late, he knew it was near closing time, one minute from nine. He scoffed amusingly, he knew Rosalee was strict about the time and remembered all those times he witnessed her kick someone out right during closing time.

"Oh, no, I was just about to have a little get together with my friends," She said happily enough that he actually felt good for the time being," Well, anyway, I have a couple of things here. Valerian Root is good but only for cramps and headaches if that's what you are talking about."

He watched her walk over to the shelves, analyzing it contents before turning back to him.

"Uh, no, something strong to aid, cuts and things of that…specific area," As his words flowed out she got to work, getting a mental picture of what he needed.

"Ah, okay, Tamanu Oil or Comfrey Root, both very affective but from experience I can say that Comfrey Root can be very addictive, especially while boosting the healing process-," She was saying and he was smiling at her little rant on how much she knew. He was fascinated, he had missed this, missed hearing the warm comforting words of her voice as they flowed from her all knowing mouth, she was smart, very smart. Too clever for her own good.

"I will take both," He said simply, interrupting what he would've assumed to be a great learning lesson. Rosalee looked at him wildly for a bit before nodding slowly and approaching the register, he following behind cautiously. And as she grew close to ringing it up a man barged in, Monroe.

"Hey, you almost done?" He asked, his eyes looking towards the man before looking back to Rosalee. "Game is about to start and Hank and Bud are drinking all the beer."

How he yearned to be included.

Rosalee laughed, the joyous sound ringing through his years ever so majestically. He missed that sound, craved every second of its warmth as it shot through his body. And Monroe, he had changed so much, his hair was a little shorter, his beard was more tamed than it used to be. He had also lost a little weight too, he looked…happy. Good.

"Okay, give me one minute with this last customer," Monroe nodded, content with the response before disappearing back behind the red curtain. Rosalee's eyes turned back towards him.

"So you are to apply this to the wound, gingerly. When it gets sticky and grows into a sort of dry crusty feel, you know it's working. For the oil, on the other hand, you put it in a tub of water, it will take hold of the water and you can easily assume the rest from there."

She handed him a bag, the contents filled with his purchased items.

"Thank you, miss." He pulled out a wad of bills before tossing them onto the counter," I, uh, hope you have a nice night with your friends."

He began to make his way out, collar to his hood being pulled up farther to block the winter air as the door burst open with cold wind slamming against him. Their eyes met for a moment and she smiled brightly.

"I miss you too." He paused for a brief moment out the door when he heard those words from her lips.

She knew.

And part of him was relieved.

 **. . .**

He hopped in the passenger side, throwing the bag on the floor, and laid back in the truck, tense muscles pulsing with cold sensations.

"I have Hadrian's Wall guarding them, constantly. No one is going to hurt them," Meisner said, peaking through the contents of the bag before starting the truck. Nick didn't respond, too lost in his own thoughts to have a real conversation, but he knew, as long as they knew he was safe, he felt near satisfied. Meisner gave him one last look, one last glance of hope that he was going to be okay.

He was getting there.

 **. . .**

No, he absolutely wasn't.

He was kneeling on the floor, perspiration gathering on his skin, sticking to it. In front of him was a photo, burnt crisp, and aged. It was them, the first time they had met. Juliette and his mom, smiles on both of their faces. Happier times. Better days. He can't remember. He can't remember what it felt like to see them smile, for real. He can't remember the warmth. He can't remember the heat Juliette brought from all of their kisses. He can't remember the warmth that spread through him when his mom hugged him. Jesus, it felt like the gnaw got stronger, the hole got bigger, and the room got colder. Every person he killed seemed to add on to the pain, to whatever was killing him slowly. Was that the punishment he had to bare? Is that what he had to go through in order to get his vengeance? So be it. But it still hurt. It wasn't the aching pain, the loneliness, none of that could compare to losing them. He never really dealt with it, never confronted it in its own space.

But now he was. And it hurt like a bitch.

And as he looked at the picture again, tears clouding his vision, he roared so loud his lungs began to burn.

 **. . .**

He didn't know how he had ended up in this position, lying atop of her naked, in the women's bathroom, of her workplace, with a bruising grip on her shoulder. He had walked in the building with all intent and purposes of finding the owner but nonetheless found Serena Dunbrooke shoving him into the bathroom and giving him what she thought he needed. He had actually sought something that she might've possessed, a power, a _connection_ , a distraction, a _fulfillment,_ yet, as they stole from each other he found himself displeased, unsatisfied with the same empty feeling he had before. He hadn't gone off, she did though and seemed very content with what she had done, walking out of the bathroom with a smug smile on her face and thumb wiping away the stray lipstick.

He thought she could fill a void in him.

The only thing she did was distract him from its existence.

 **. . .**

" _Two dead bodies found near the river again, both wearing the same tattoos as the previous murders. These men, who will not be identified, have committed crimes before, robbery, murder, and larceny. Detective Hank Griffin and Drew Wu believe it has something to do with rival gangs. Other folks are saying that there is a spirit of vengeance, avenging those of the innocent lives these two men, and others of the same gang, have taken. We have no confirmation of who or what is actually doing but hopefully soon, this vigilante will come to peace…Back to you, Dan, with the weather…"_

He threw the shot back, the liquor burning down his throat like fire. He wanted so desperately for the flames to engulf him.

"You believe 'em?"

Nick's eyes shot up to the person next to him, slightly buzzed and a little tired. He had found this quaint little bar not far from the foundry, wasn't too loud, wasn't too quiet, just how he liked it. There were six people here, four Black Claw members, minding their own, and minding his own, except for this one stranger.

"Excuse me?" He asked, trying effortlessly to come back down to Earth.

"You believe the people? What they're saying? Some sort of spirit of vengeance killing all these gang members?" The stranger asked, one hand clutching his beer and the other fiddling with the sleeve of his leather jacket. Nick, stretching back a little, looked over the stranger's neck for any Black Claw tattoos. None. Where did that lead him?

His eyes, which seemed to have an eternal sunlight blazing in them causing them to narrow in sight, looked at the man before looking back at his drink, wasn't _wesen_ either," No."

"What? Are you serious? You sure you don't believe in spirits sent to Earth by God to dispel some sort of justice?" Nick didn't respond, just ran his finger over the ring of his glass. "Almost every religion or culture believes in some sort of… _Grimm_."

Nick spun in his seat, hand reaching for the knife in his back pocket," What did you just say?"

The stranger, startled, looked him dead in the eye. "You know…a _Grimm_? It means 'wrath' in German. Almost every religion or culture has a wrath. They are humans, kind of like us, but more enhanced. They were tasked a long time ago, in some country, by some Royals, to protect the mundane world from the _wesen_ world. Oh, yeah, _wesens_ are fairytale creatures in which whom the _Grimm's_ fight, or mainly keep in order. That's why most _wesen_ are scared of the _Grimms_ , they are legit OP, or like really powerful with enhanced strength, speed, perceptiveness, five senses, and all that good stuff. Anyway, the _Grimms_ worked for the seven Royal houses of Verrat, right? Like enforcers, another reason the _wesens_ fear them. But the _Grimms_ broke those accords, guess they didn't like the Royal bastards and their laws anymore. They became total European badasses, left on their own to keep the mundane world safe from the _wesen_ … Course, they are just fairytales."

The stranger went to sip his beer, leaving Nick befuddled and confused. His hand eased away from the knife, slipping so slowly onto his lap. Nick visibly relaxed and reached for his drink with hesitance," Fairytales…right."

With a wave of his fingers, he asked the bartender for another round, eyes staring indefinitely at the mirror hanging behind the bar. "Eh, what's your name?"

The stranger, more focused on the news, looked to him with slight surprise before gathering himself with a smile, "U-Uh, Andrew."

"Well, Andrew, get down and close your eyes," Nick sighed, throwing a couple bills onto the counter before reaching for the axe, lying against the side of the bar.

"Wha-?"

The four Black Claw members _wogued_ , none of them impossible to beat. Andrew ducked his head, one eye cocked open, trying to catch a glance at what was going before a head rolls into his view, transformed into some beast, shifts back to a regular human face. He shouts and flinches when he hears a heart wrenching scream echo through the room, followed by a crack and snap. The bartender and the extra patrician had hidden, one behind the bar and the other underneath the booth. Andrew shook, his body quivering in fear at the implicit sounds of death. The ripping of flesh, the cracking of bones, tearing of skin, blood splattering, and the last breaths taken. The room grew silent except for the sound of someone breathing heavily, no doubt the man with the axe.

He had walked over to where he had sat, blood splattered across his being and his axe. Casually, at ease, he walked over back towards the bar where he grabbed his drink with bloody fingers. Andrew stared at the man, fascinated and scared all the while. He was the _Grimm_.

"Still think they're fairytales?"

 **. . .**

" _Nick…Nick," A familiar voice reached his ears, coaxing him awake from his slumber. His eyes pried open slowly, adjusting to the sun's rays. Shading his eyes from the light, he looked over the room for the voices owner. And he froze when he found his answer. It was Juliette, clad in a white gown, looking so innocent, and peaceful. "Get up. You gotta get up, Nick."_

 _He rose slowly and consciously from the floor that he lie on, the bed always feeling too comfortable for his new edge. She beckoned him to follow her, he didn't hesitate, jumping up to his feet to reach her but his attempts at grasping her were all deflected by swift and cold hands. He couldn't help the tears though, that flood through his eyelids like rainwater flowing from the sky._

" _Juliette," He pleaded and cried, still continuing to touch her, to feel her, to try so desperately to get a grasp at what he had thought lost," I missed you so much. God, I've…Missed you."_

 _She didn't respond, just kept walking._

" _Juliette…?" He asked sweetly, smiles and tears admonishing his face. The smile ever so slowly began to fade and the tears began to well up. "Come on…Speak to me. I beg to hear more of your voice."_

 _She turned towards him and his smile grew back faster, she smiled as well before walking towards him, arms out and opened. He opened his arms too but didn't get what he had thought. She went straight through him and in the arms of Renard and Kenneth, both who touched her like they owned her. Nick growled and desperately tried to attack them, to beat them, but his arms went straight through them. Then the scene had changed, all three sat at a dinner table, forks and knife in hand, Juliette set hers down before proceeding to open up the meal from a box witch sat in the middle of the table._

 _It was his mother's head._

He woke up screaming.

 **. . .**

He was at his workbench when he heard the knock, sipping on beer and working on any weapon that needed to be renovated. His worn hand reached for his axe, and grabbed a grape from the table as he made his way to the door. He knew it wasn't Meisner, Meisner never knocked, just always broke in. With a low voice he brought up his axe," What do you want?"

"A warm body." He recognized that voice but he couldn't find any relief in it.

"You are going to find the opposite," He told her through the door, head down, and axe swinging in between his fingers.

"Only one way to find out," She responded which prompted him to crack open the door, head still down, he looked at her with the one eye peeking through the crack, trying to find something so desperately lost to him. He looked over her, his eye drinking her in like the gin he kept lying around in the foundry. Her hair was down, black jeggings, tight blouse, loose jacket, and boots that completed the whole set. He wanted to look her in her eye and see that what she was saying was true but through the aviators she wore he couldn't see a damn thing.

"I brought booze," She said, emotionless features crossing her face, as she shifted her stance. He sighed and gave her one last glance.

"You should've said that first," He grounded out, swinging the door open and heading back to his workbench. He heard the snapping of gears, knowing she closed the door behind her, and surprisingly he heard a familiar lock. Her heels clicked against the wooden floors, echoing through the room. It was unfamiliar to his ears, to his nose, to the space around him. He hadn't had a woman in his home, or whatever the foundry was to him, in a long time. He had forgotten what it felt like. To have so much testosterone taken down by so little estrogen. The air changed, surrounding him with something he couldn't explain.

His back was to her for all of five minutes before she had gathered his attention, hesitantly. He gathered his stuff, placing his pencil in his mouth he looked at her from his peripheral. She was already sitting in one of armchairs, legs crossed, sipping whatever she had brought for him. She shot him a look, motioning him to come over.

He gave her one look, something between curiosity and condensation.

"Well I didn't come here so you could stare at me," She said smoothly, he snorted," Even if it is flattering."

Throwing his pencil on the table, he pulled on a shirt, and made his way towards her, heated gaze following her every movement. He sat down, slowly, and cautiously. Her eyes never left him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked and instead of grabbing a glass, he grabbed the bottle.

"You've been sleeping with Serena."

He raised an eyebrow, tilting the bottle up to his lips," Remember, jealousy doesn't suite you."

That grabbed her full attention and he smiled wickedly before taking a sip," Disappointed."

His brows furrowed and the bottle fell from his lips and to his side. He sits up in his seat and levels with her. She sits back, relax, taking pride in what she knows and he doesn't. And she knows so much more.

"You could do so much better," She says, taking the bottle from his hand, and pouring some more into her tumbler, eyes never leaving him. He could see something familiar in her eyes, something he saw in the mirror almost every night. Emptiness.

"With who?" He asked quietly after a beat. "You?"

"You miss her…"

"...It's just se-"

"Not talking about Serena," Adalind played with her words, eliciting different reactions from him, bodily and languidly. He froze and slowly leant back in his chair, hand clutching the bottle so tightly she was afraid he was going to break it. His face betrayed no emotion, just looking blankly at her, as if he was looking through her instead of at her but she could see the way his body tensed, he was holding back.

She tilted her head, hesitant smirk in place," I can't say I am sorry…You would know I wouldn't mean it."

And at this, he looked away. He hadn't really talked about it, talked about what happened. It was hard to describe his feelings about the situation, whether he was mad, sad, happy, relieved, or just content. He looked like he was questioning every life decision he had ever made, and what led up to this destruction, to this vengeance.

"You want her to fill a void that she can't. And you know this, yet you try so hard to get her to fill it. You want her and you think you need her. She'll never be _her_ ," She said and it was so real that he flinched at her words," Forget her."

He looked pained, his face contorting in between anger and utter torture,"…Why are you telling me this?"

She sighed, looking elsewhere in the room with pursed lips," I find myself needing you."

He raised an eyebrow, grabbing for the bottle again," What would a _Hexenbiest_ need from a _Grimm_?"

She smiled a little, easing the slight tension. " Funny combination isn't it? I'm surprised, honestly, that you haven't tried to kill me."

"Give me a reason not to start now," He muttered, taking a big swig of booze and she eyed him for a moment, contemplating her next decision. She watched as the booze flowed from the bottle, some falling on his full lips, his throat moving furiously to swallow every last drop. Then she had made her decision. Placing the tumbler on the little coffee table, she stood; he eyed her movements and lowered the bottle from his lips slowly, losing the urge to drown his sufferings at the bottom of the bottle and watch her. She took the bottle from his hand and placed it on the table also before turning back to him, and pushing him back into his seat. He watched her curiously, dangerously, but also heatedly. And as she straddled his hips she could feel the tension encase his body, every muscle flexed with unfamiliarity and the beautiful sensation she recognized as desire.

"I hate you." He muttered, as if it was some sort of testament not only towards her but to him also. She saw it as more, she knew it was more. She could hear it in his voice. It wasn't a plea to stop, it was a plead for her to keep going.

"I hate you more." She breathed. And he knew, he wasn't the only one with a void to fill. They were using each other, using their hatred for one another as a sort of psychedelic desire. They were going to use it to such a capacity that it would make them forget, fill that void. And as her hands fell on his shoulders and as his hands landed on her thighs they knew they weren't going to take this easy and soft. This wasn't lover's remorse. This was screw me until I forget my problems, until I forget all the things wrong with the world.

That's what they were working towards.

Her lips landed on his harshly, parting his lips with such force that it had him growling. He reciprocated hesitantly but was just as harsh. He tasted like mixtures of alcohol and desperation with an agenda. She tasted like booze and fire with something so surreal that it was fake. It was teeth and tongue that drove them crazy, no use of soft lips or generous pecks of love. No, this was raw desire at its finest, being used for other reasons than true love. It angered him, to think of what he had become, what he was about to do. Hatred, love, desire, it was all the same, on one fine line that they were dancing on with tainted steps. Love had corrupted them, and hatred had brought them together. It would've taken them a while to realize that they actually have more in common than they think they do. But as Adalind devoured Nick's lips with her own, it didn't matter anymore. It was just them. Hated enemies against reality. The imperfect world, gone from their ideals, and it was just them.

His hands began to roam, taking charge and gripping her tight enough that it there would surely be bruises. The love he had once had for Juliette was broken, the corrupted pieces spreading through him to power such emotions coursing through him right now. He was growing incapable of such feeling, losing hope every second he spent on this Earth.

Her fingers flexed over his shoulders, roaming down his arms to find muscles literally made to kill. She saw it as a reason to push herself harder, to prove that he may have grown stronger but she did too; that he wasn't the only one that had evolved. He had given a new meaning to the term _Grimm._ It was about time she gave a new meaning to _Hexenbiest_. Using her powers she forced his hands off of her, pinning them down to rest on the armchair while her hands freely roamed about him, using his body as some sort of catalyst.

" _Adalind_ ," He growled in that low, primal, _Grimm_ voice of his. It was a warning she didn't necessarily give a shit about. The thing about _Grimm's_ are the fact that they are stronger than _Kehrseiten,_ and him being stronger meant more resistance but it also meant more fun. More –desire- to be given. Her hands slid over taut muscles, responding to her every caress or grasp. He flexed unnaturally beneath her fingers, giving her something to work with. And when she grinded down onto him, his hips shifting upwards at the fraction, she smile wickedly against his lips.

"The _wesen_ council wouldn't approve, they don't believe it possible," He breathed against her lips, his warm alcoholic breath sending shivers down her spine. He was right though. This wasn't and shouldn't be possible for a _Grimm_ and _wesen_ to do this sort of thing. Her lips traveled down to his neck, his stubble creating a burning sensation against her neck that sent heat pooling down into her stomach. If this was illegal, even in the _wesen_ community, she would be damned if she didn't get in trouble.

Her lips traveled back up to his own before grounding into him again, "Lets prove them wrong."

He shot up from the chair, surprising Adalind enough that her powers faltered enough to free his hands from their magical confines. He didn't even reach to grab her, resulting in her legs gripping him tighter and her hands grabbing at his shirt with enough force that it ripped.

"Bed?" She muttered in between kisses, leaning back just the slightest to get a better angle of his lips which were tempting to her with sinfully dark desires. And he froze for a minute, grabbing her by her thighs and adjusting her on his hips, his lips froze, and his body, his whole body physically tensed. He was remembering something, those moments with her, with Juliette in their bed, making love all through the night. Making love, the term sounded like a foreign language in his thoughts now. He didn't know what it was anymore. Making love? Love was what broke him, love was what bounded him, tied him up, and tortured him before setting him out into the world to live with what he had been through. He looked at things differently now, from a different angle, a different perspective as if he was standing in one place before moving to another. Like looking through human eyes before growing old enough to see monsters for the first time. Or having a life one minute before having it ripped away from you another. Then he came to the conclusion.

He muttered hoarsely," Beds are for sleeping."

Her smirk grew bigger at his statement but then faltered for a moment when she tried to think of a flat surface near them and that question was immediately answered afterward when he forced her down on the workbench, hurriedly they both swiped any items off that would get in their way, metal clanging and falling uselessly on the stone floors. Hurriedly she got her clothes off and patience not being one of her virtues she used her powers to strip him of his clothes as he bit into her neck, leaving hickeys that would last for days, weeks maybe since he wasn't technically human. Their moans bounced off the wall, the sounds drowning out the ever dull TV station playing in the back. And once they were naked and perspiration was gathering they took it slower, but just as intense. Her eyes locked with his as her nails scraped down his back, drawing heavy labored breaths from him. He grabbed her arms and forced her down, her back hitting against the smooth wood of his workbench were he had crafted and forged so many weapons that only a _Grimm_ could admire.

He tried to imagine brown locks and brown eyes when they encompassed each other, taking each other in but he couldn't. Juliette would never be this intense, she would always be soft and gentle. Adalind took it to the extreme, she didn't let him assert his dominance only if it felt good to her. It was selfish but as he took her to different heights he felt selfish too. He could feel it in his head, that push and pull of reality, she was trying to help him, help him remember her face, remember Juliette's face for the first time, replacing her own face with someone else's. He had paused his movements and stared her directly in the eye, pain crossing his features. When she made a move to keep going he grabbed her forcedly by the jaw and forced her gaze to lock with his eyes. And her magic was powerful enough that he could see bits of her, bits of Juliette in Adalind. She actually looked sorry for him, sorry for what he lost, _pity_. And he was confused, he _hated_ her yet he was feeling so much more than that. She was bringing out feelings that he hadn't felt in ages. The first –Satisfaction.

His death grip on her arms had released, his eyes still locked on her even as she looked to see him let her go. She looked up at him from under her lashes, concern written in them and before he knew it he descended his lips onto hers. He spent the evening and all through the night pleasing her, bringing her higher and higher, and taking what she gave him.

And for the first time, in a long time, he didn't feel empty.

 **. . .**

He was sitting there on the floor, thoughts running through his head while Adalind slept soundly beside him, his throw covering her up. What did he do? What had he done? When had he fallen so far? Those were the questions he should've been asking himself but he didn't. What they had just done sent something through him, something warm and good. It wasn't just the sex, even though both of them saw it that way. It was much more. It was a way out of the abyss that had engulfed them both into a sea of loss. And he'd be damned if he didn't say he enjoyed it, that it sent something spiraling through him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. And as he turned towards her to analyze her, he lifted his hand up, hovering over the side of her face eyes carving the details of her features. She was beautiful, attractive. Not the first time he had noticed. He was becoming more or less infatuated with the woman, he could feel it in his veins and body, the need to please her was overwhelming, taming his fire with her never fading embers. His fire, her embers. He shook his head and wanted to pull his hand away but it was as if it was growing magnetized to her, attracting and repelling, but he found himself drawn.

His caress was soft, trying to relive a faded, broken memory, as he stroked the hair back on her cheek. She was flawlessly perfect. Then she shivered from what he assumed to be the temperature and he flinched back but immediately gained his reigns before wrapping around her slowly, his arms encompassing her before swaddling her naked form up in his arms.

 _Beds are for sleep_ he remembers saying. She had not deserved to be on the floor and he kicked himself for thinking for a fraction. A Goddess such as herself should be treated with the utmost care. Yet, she walked into his broken shack as if she belonged.

He picked up her unconscious form, swaddling her in the throw. She stirred in her sleep, moving against his naked form as well, mumbling tainted words from faded memories. He shushed her by muttering words in her ear, bringing her head to his shoulder as he walked up the stairs of the foundry. Three floors and he had chosen to put the bed on the top. Finally, once he had arrived he placed her lithe form on the mattress, tucking the blankets over top of her, and raising the blinds so the sun could warm her. The bed was cold, it always was. When he had gotten tired of trying to sleep he just gave up, ran downstairs, got a bottle of gin, and ran out to kill the nearest Black Claw.

For some odd reason he didn't find himself doing that, he found himself pulling up a chair and never taking his eyes off of her.

 **. . .**

He checked his watch again. Ever since the ball a couple of weeks ago the Royals had been living in Portland, believing it safer to be here than Vienna. When he had heard the news he immediately got off his ass and got his stuff together, parking Adalind's Bugatti in his garage first before making his way. They were staying in an upstate mansion, reserved only for them for as long as they needed it. He easily broke in, jumping through an open window before sneaking around the place to find his target.

Which led him here, pillow over the face of the Queen of Vienna, and with five minutes on his side. She put up a fight, turned out to be a _Hexenbiest_ as well. Was interesting, she had slashed his chest, blood was oozing out and by the time her last breath was taken he was out the window. He looked at the gash on his chest. He had nearly failed this time.

But who doesn't come out with battle scars?

 **. . .**

She was gone when he got back, he knew when he stood on the threshold. The ground was a little colder and the space was a little emptier. He was actually curious to see if she would stay, a little disappointed when she didn't. She had filled a void, she had ceased that dull emptiness, that nagging voice in the back of his head that just told him to _let go_. She had ceased his storm and he, ever so hesitant, let her. She had known him, not personally though, it was through experience. She had known his pain of loss and this emptiness. He didn't know through what but he could sense that she felt it, it was connection that pulled reality and abstract, tearing it to pieces until it was them against the world. He had felt content. Satisfaction. Fulfilment. She had come, when he didn't want her but when he needed her. She had made him forget about the scars he held, the memories he had wished to forget, and the pain he felt every single damn day. They had used each other, stealing strength and control, but it seems he had satisfied her if he knew correctly were she was.

The man on the ground, Thomas Woolsey, squirms back and forth, screaming, blood pouring viciously, shouts his name desperately. Nick raises his bloody fingers up to his lips before telling the man to 'shh'. Snatching the man's phone he easily dials a number akin to his own memory.

"Hello…?" He cursed it all to hell.

Her voice smooth and unbroken on the other side of the line, he hates it. He despises it and wishes he could drown himself all over again. It took him a minute, just to savor the sound of her breathing. He hates her so much that it borders on the extent of-

He won't let himself come to the thought.

"Glad to know I was put to good use," His voice is low, unlike the other evening when his voice was light with the careless attitude but now. Now was different.

He didn't have something to give a shit about.

It wasn't out of anger. No, she ceased his demons. And he wants her so desperately to do it again.

There is a slight pause on the line and all he could hear was her smooth, calm breathing. He dives in it, savoring it. He makes her feel something, and she, him. They won't admit it, they don't admit defeat in the presence of enemies, especially ex-enemies. Her breath hitches for a small moment and as it does he can feel her, feel her skin on the pads of his fingers, her heat on his skin, her scent suffocating his nostrils, she's drowning him in everything she is and whether or not she is using her powers or not is a loss to him. Thomas is squirming again and Nick gets his hand, slides it up his wound before twisting violently. He writhes in agony and shouts to God to please help. It's the fact that Nick actually takes pleasure in the blood curdling scream that scares him.

She ignores it but sees it as an amp for her to speak," Called me this morning, begging for me. I can't-"

"Couldn't," He easily slips in as if it belonged, and, it did. Thompson groans, like he had the worse hangover in the world. It makes him angry at the displeasure he tries to portray. No, it made him angrier. This man, Thomas had told the King to go back to Vienna tonight. Nick was already probably a suspect, he couldn't get on a boat or airplane 'cause they would be looking for him. And out of that came two things: him, angry, and Thomas, a dead man.

"Since you picked up I know he's not around," Nick says simply, gaze still on the mercenary. He was crying and damning Nick, rocking back and forth in a controlled manner that his blood swung back and forth between his body and hitting the ground. "Must say I am disappointed."

She doesn't say anything but using his hearing he could tell her breathing grew a lot faster. Nick places his foot on Thomas' throat. Thomas is looking at him over his foot, begging God for forgiveness while also begging him to let him go. It was funny really. This man was just damning him to hell a couple of seconds ago. He smiles viciously before looking up. He doesn't like it but he accepts it.

"You could do so much better."

He then hung up.

 **. . .**

 _He's going to get away, he's going to get away_. Nick chants in his head with a small smile. He's outdone himself this time. He watches, his eyes traveling the length of the plane as it attempts to get off the airstrip.

That's going to be difficult when both pilots are dead at the wheel.

He waits, patiently, for the wheels to stop moving, shoving the mask over his face and loading the poison coated bullets into the shotgun, Meisner and Trubel right behind him.

…

Thomas was dead, hanging like branches outside the Mayor's office, swaying with the cold wind of morning. The news reporter had called it tragic then moved onto Sean's beautifully sculptured face about how he felt about the subject. No one matters in the world anymore, except for the power whores and big money makers. Thomas didn't matter, the world kept spinning and the sun kept shining without him. Juliette and Kelly died, and as much as it pains him, the world kept spinning. And this was him:

 _The World had told him," Move."_

 _His jaw set and eyes narrowed, he planted himself like a tree," No, you move."_

 **. . .**

She had called him, asking him for assistance, he was resilient at first but was curious enough to venture to her destination. Her apartment, which was located in a five star hotel with multitudes of camera, sat in the city, the place of his disposition. He had brought a gun, just in case she decided to switch sides also, it wouldn't be new to him. The betrayal of one of his orbital acquaintances wouldn't be unfamiliar nor would it hurt, just an excuse to strengthen the flame and grow stronger.

"Adalind Schade, please," The receptionist responded with a room number which he noticed was the highest room of the building, the penthouse. Taking the stairs two steps at a time, he hid his face professionally from the camera in the stairwell, quickly, making his way towards his intended destination. He had reached it, knocking on the door swiftly, only to realize the door was already ajar, bringing up his guard and setting his attention on high alert. The place was in disarray, miscellaneous items thrown around the room. And there Adalind stood, leaning against the wall made of windows looking out over the city, her blonde hair, which was complimented by sun setting was down and flowing. He noticed it had grown longer but that was one of the features he noticed, her pale skin was sunbathing and he found himself entranced but also confused. She seemed fine, white long shirt, tight grey pants, black boots, sunglasses, and a tumbler in hand. He couldn't see what was wrong.

"Why'd you call me?" He asked gruffly, his voice slightly deeper than normal with its unused vocal cords. Her lips turned upward a little, revealing white pearls of teeth.

"Would you believe that I missed you?" She asked and an eyebrow, which was hidden by her sunglasses, had risen. He took a step forward, hand easing off the gun in his back pocket. She was clearly playing some sort of game, he tilted his head in examination. Something was wrong with her.

"No," He responded simply, still trying to identify the problem. She scoffed, amused, adjusting her stance against the window. Then, when common sense set in, he walked up to her, in her line of sight against the window, patience thinning. "Take off the glasses."

She simply took a sip of whatever was in her glass.

He grabbed her chin, but she jerked away feverishly. Then, he grabbed her jaw, thumb digging into her skin. Carefully, his other hand reached to grab the glasses, sliding them gently from off her face. She winced and tried to move away from him but didn't go far when he saw black and blue coloring the outline of her eye. His eyes narrowed and his stomach lurched in anger and pain.

She had gotten in a fight. He felt like he was the one in it.

Framing her head with his hands," Who did this?"

"Don't know, don't care," She rolled her eyes and attempted to move away from his grasp. He gripped harder, keeping her head steady as he leveled a glare with her.

His eyes glazed over before simply asking," Why?"

Her eyes shot to his own, a part of her angry with him for causing her distress. He wouldn't dare blame her. He wouldn't blame her if she hit him. He physically couldn't blame her, every bone and vein, physically ready to serve her, to please her. And if she felt the same desire as he did, she could grace him with pleasure but now they faced the pain." Cause I have been _fucking_ with you."

She took this beating for him. She hadn't given them his address. "Why didn't you…? Why…?"

She simply stared up at him, avoiding his gaze but her eyes never leaving him. "What other reason is there, other than the fact that I…"

He didn't need the words to be said. He knew how she felt but he wanted her to say so much more, to show him the extent of what she held. " Take my car back to the foundry."

She nodded hesitantly, snatching his car keys from his pocket and heading out.

Once he heard the door click, he punched a hole into the wooden table.

 **. . .**

"Who sent you after, Adalind Schade?" Meisner asked, arms perched on the back of the seat, and eyeing the two _wesen_. Neither of them responded. "So I'm assuming you just like beating on women? Is that it? You see, my friend over here, in that corner, with the scowl on his face, doesn't like that. And right now he wants the torture you, kill you slowly so you can feel every blood vessel, every nerve, burst with pain."

Trubel looked at the two, eyebrow raised," You want that?"

" _Occul Tatum Libera,"_ They both spat in sync.

"Okay, fine," Meisner rose from the chair, heading towards the door with Trubel in tow," They are all yours, Nick."

Their screams bounced off the wall while both Meisner and Trubel watched TV.

 **. . .**

Adalind woke to the sound of light buzzing, the sun slightly blinding her in her search for the familiar sound of a phone. Her arms flailed towards the bedside, reaching for the mobile device. She had received a text, from Sean Renard.

 _Come over. Rachel is at work._

 _Sean 6:23 AM_

It was a simple decision, really. She slipped on her clothes, quietly, one piece at a time, while also wondering how they had come off. Nick, probably, or herself. It was his house, his bed, his sheets, his scent, it made her pause for a moment, just lingering on the smell of him. The combination of blood, sweat, tears, outdoors, and just man, her own personal psychedelic, sending her to her own harmony, bringing her to sort of content with just how things were. God, this man. This _Grimm_. She honestly wanted to stay, to find him, spend the morning with him until the sun rose and reality clawed back into whatever dream they would fall into. It was tempting to figure him out, to spend every moment wrapped in his surroundings. She was curious to how it felt like, lying on a bed, naked, just him and her, talking, kissing, enjoying what they had when they barely had anything. It was so tempting, to just put him above everything else. But another vibration from her phone brought her out of decision.

 _I want you_. _Right now._

 _Sean 6:30 AM_

She sighed, placing her phone in her back pocket before attempting to make her way out, her heels clacking not so soundly against the wooden floor.

She jumped when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, the feel was soft but the grip was hard, coaxing something between pleasure and pain. And how she yearned for the both, as pain was sitting on the bed, shirtless and hunched over, and pleasure was in the palm of her hand, like a switch. Her eyes shot to him, his head was down, hair mussed, stubble growing, cuts and bruises outlined in the painting that was his body, his sun-bathed, Arabian skin illuminated by the morning sun, indentations representing the hard muscle and power he held. But right now, in this moment, he never felt so powerless. When he had felt her knee weakening gaze on him, his head tilted up slightly, one blue serene eye revealing itself from the darkness of his self-proclaimed damnation. His eyes, almost like always, were bloodshot, holding back the tears of a faded memory and angst of rushing emotions and thoughts. His hand, which had caught her wrist, kneaded the flesh there, all the while bring it closer to his cheek. Her fingers involuntarily shaped to his jaw, her thumb moving back and forth softly over the bone of his jaw which flexed with tension and need. Her nails scraped ever so lightly against his thickening stubble. He felt something when he was with her, more than he had felt with anyone else he had come into contact with.

"Stay," His voice was quiet and pleading,"…Please."

He had let go of her hand before slowly grabbing her hips, cautiously bringing them towards him and placing her in between his jean-clad legs. His head, which hung uselessly in the air, placed itself on her stomach, just above her waist. She was growing conflicted, her thoughts growing more and more useless with every move he made, every pleading syllable he used on her. Her hand had traveled from his jaw to his hair, mussing it up more than it already was. He was broken, getting to the point where his broken pieces would decay into nothing but ashes, and those ashes would soon blow away into the dark abyss that haunted him almost every night, leaving him to be nothing but another empty, corrupted vessel of the earth. He needed someone, so desperately to bring him back together.

He needed her.

His fingers, which were so bloody, held her in a hard grip, wanting to never let go. She could feel it in the way he touched her, never able to relax with the thought of another man being able to touch her like he did. Her other hand, which wasn't in his hair, found the muscles of his back, trying to coax the tension out, to knead the muscles to the point of relaxation and pleasure. His muscles only flexed with restraint He was suffering, his mind playing with him and his body torturing him with the dull agonizing pain of never being able to let go. Her nails ran down the skin of his back, before coming up with her fingers. It was a soothing rhythm, balancing out him and his inner demons. Then, she paused when she felt another vibration in her back pocket. Nick felt it too. He knew who it was.

 _Lie to me, lie with me, get your fucking fix, now all my drinks and all my feelings are fucking mixed,_ he had wanted to say, spite his anger but he calmed his demons, ceasing them with her angelic appearance. He gripped her harder for only a beat, savoring the feel of her in his hands, before hesitantly letting her go. "Your keys are in my jacket pocket, your car…The garage."

He says it and she can feel his heart break all over again, she was torturing him with unasked questions and it hurt her to know that she was. She backed away from him hesitantly, his fingers, which had caught hold of her loose fitting, white see through blouse, reveled in the feel of its softness, while leaving a slight blood trail on it, marking her. She wanted to ask whose it was but a part of her knew, deep down inside that he had gotten whatever revenge he sought. It didn't matter anymore, she was leaving him. Nothing mattered anymore. Her warm embrace left his cold skin and he shivered, the blouse slipping from beneath his fingers.

Everything grew cold, his fire extinguishing.

But then, he felt warm hands on his face, making his gaze shoot up at the touch. Her light blue eyes, tainted with faults and a one-sided love, found his, and he looked at her with longing. She bent down, only for her to chin to tilt up and reach his lips. It was a small peck at first, a representation of her own wants and desires, backing only away from him a mere inch, their lips still grazing in contact.

Her hands went from his face to his neck, trying to steady his needy lips from capturing her own again," What do you want from me?"

His hands which sat uselessly in his laps moved to her neck, his fingers light and cautious on her smooth, fragile, skin. His touch was soft and smooth. He paused for a moment, hesitating, eyes never leaving her face,"…Everything you are."

The one simple word caused her lips to latch onto his, hungrily, desirably, her hands running over him, through his hair, over taught muscles, and still healing bruises which he makes clear when he bites her lip. She doesn't stop, nor does she apologize, just pushes him back on the bed before crawling on top of him, making sure to kiss every single bruise available to her. And to his surprise, they actually heal. He stares at her with fascination, his heart fluttering with slight warmth and he can feel a part of himself mending back together. He sits up when their lips meet again, one hand in her hair and the other holding her steady, on her thigh.

There is a fine line between love and hate.

And they both know they've found it.

 **. . .**

He sits, atop the dresser, watching Adalind with utter fascination and curiosity. Meisner stood next to him, arms crossed while feasting on an apple he snatched from the kitchen, same went for Trubel, but she had a banana, and was lying on the bed. Nick tells Adalind to take a break, hand held out towards her. Her fingers slip so naturally into his own before attracting towards him like a magnet. She kisses him, it's sweet, and he can taste the blood on her lips.

"Fuck off, _Grimm_ ," Rachel Wood responds, spitting out a good amount of blood before returning her gaze back towards the two _Grimm's_ , the _Hexenbiest_ , and the strong and manageable _Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen_. He lets Adalind go, watching the sway of her hips as she walks back towards the _Lowen_.

"I apologize, totally escaped my mind, I forgot to congratulate you on your nuptials. Adalind, Meisner, Trubel, if you will," He motions towards Rachel, who is helplessly kneeling on the ground, her own blood coating the bedroom. All three whisper congratulations, before Adalind knocks Rachel's head back against the bedside table.

"You know… _Hexenbiest_ are stronger than _Lowen_ right? And this one doesn't like you," Trubel states, nodding towards Adalind. Meisner smiles.

" _Occul Tatum Libera_ ," Rachel whispers, the signal of her loyalty with Black Claw escaping her lips and reaching his ears. He sighs, eyes narrowing in slight anger.

"I hoped this would be easier," Nick states, hopping off the dresser and approaching Adalind, kissing her quickly before whispering in her ear,"…She's all yours."

She _wogues_ as the other three leave.

They wait outside the door, discussing a TV show they found themselves hooked on.

 **. . .**

"We are handling the issue as we speak. The Portland Police are on the hunt for this killer, using every lead and manpower we have available. There is no need for panic, the situation is under control. We have now confirmed that he is targeting…Vienna Royalty and anyone in contact with them. He has managed to kill all but three. Thank you." The Reporters left, packing up their cameras and mics and heading out of the office. Sean sighed, the pressure of high-ranking publicity ebbing from his weary body.

"You did good, gave us enough time to catch whoever it is ruining our plans," Conrad Bonaparte, co-founder of Black Claw stated. Sean sighed.

"They're dead…Most of my family," He responded, leaning back in his chair before looking him in his eye," I will give you anything you need to find the son of a bitch who did this."

Conrad nodded, clearly pleased. "We will be in contact later tonight. For now, play your role."

He then left, leaving Sean with the utter silence of power. It was deafening, leaving to many things to his though, quickly he had grabbed the remote before turning the TV on. He paused at what was on.

"I don't understand."

Sean spun in his seat, gaze travelling over the room in a haste to figure out who was there. Sitting there, in the lounge area, was Nick Burkhardt.

"I don't understand what happened," He had said, mind at ease but heart at war," We used to be something, Sean. You were my Captain, I was your Detective. We…were friends. Close friends by that matter, even though you kept putting me through shit. What happened, Sean?"

Through the small amount of words spoke, Sean understood. "It was you; you were killing all the Royals."

Nick tilted his head, eyes never leaving Renard's, "Look at us now. I'm wanted and you're the Mayor. We've stepped up in the world."

"Did you do this?!" Sean slammed his hands on the table before motioning towards the TV, where Rachel Wood, his fiancé, and Viktor, the King, were strapped to some sort of mechanisms, each different. Sean rounded the desk, intent dragging across his face, grabbing Nick by the collar and attempting to slam him on the official desk. Nick reciprocated, kneeing him in the groin, head-butting him, elbow to the rib, before pushing him back. Sean _wogued_ but Nick brought out an axe, stilling him.

Nick sighed," You still don't get it."

He _wogued_ back to his human form, anger heaving heavily from his chest," Don't get the fact that you kidnapped my fiancé and my step-father?!"

"How do you not remember?" Nick questioned," You don't remember their faces? Don't remember the way she screamed at you? Do you not _fucking_ remember?!"

It took Sean a moment but images began to flash in his head. Nick shook his head in disappointment before gathering a seat. There was the fire, it was seething but Nick was keeping it at bay, oozing it out one small piece at a time, dividing it, spreading it.

"Juliette Silverton and Kelly Burkhardt," He whispered and Nick's eyebrows shot up.

"Tell me who called it," Nick said slowly but Sean didn't respond, just stared into nothingness at the remembrance of that night. Nick honestly wanted to kill him right then and there. "Tell me who called it!"

"I did!"

Nick notched the axe into the wooden table, anger, sadism, fueling what he has become now," Which leads us to where we are now! In about five minutes that pulley will cut the King's head off, in the same time that pull back will unleash five arrows into your fiancé."

Sean launched himself at Nick, fully _wogued_ , anger fueling his body, anguish slowing him down. Nick had more, more to fight for, even when he had taken away everything. _Zauberbiest_ were strong but not enough to beat a pissed off _Grimm_. Sean attempted desperately to throw Nick on the ground. It was fruitless. Nick dodged every hit thrown, every attempts at power, contradicting everything tossed at him, using everything Meisner had taught him. Sean was angry, throwing punches that would miss and hit. Nick didn't bother to block, he was laughing. Sean had punched him, Nick's face snapping in that direction before returning back to the direction of Renard with a smile on his face and blood coloring his teeth. He did it again and Nick gave the same response, more laughing came with more punches, driving Sean mad. With one last punch, Nick decided it was enough, grabbing Sean by the head he forced it against his knee.

Without reverence, Nick then punched the _Zauberbiest_ non-stop. And with a gust of adrenaline pumping anger, he grabbed Sean by the waist and picked him up before slamming him down against the wooden table.

"I have to thank you, Sean. You made me stronger, better, faster. Yet, you've failed to realize you created a monster, now you must face it. Face the vengeance you created," Nick grabbed Sean's jaw, forcing him to look at the television screen, while on his knees.

"I won't kill you, no, I want you to know how I feel. I'm going to let you live with it, live with the dull ache you gave me, the emptiness, the loneliness, and most of all…"

Both watched, Sean in horror and Nick in fascination as the King and Rachel's blood began to splatter across the walls.

"Vengeance."

 **. . .**

"You sure about this? There's no going back after this."

"Done too much to go back now."

"Alright," Meisner nodded, loading and cocking his gun. They stood, guns cocked, weapons ready, and heads up, in front of the Black Claw headquarters, with Hadrian Wall Soldiers standing right behind them. Trubel, pulled out her crossbow while counting the arsenal of arrows. Nick swung his axe in between his calluses, adrenaline pumping him, a fire fueling him, and a vengeance behind him.

" _I got nothing to live for and everything to die for_."

"Nick," Adalind interrupted, hands encompassing the one hand that didn't hold the axe," I'm not going in."

His brow creased in confusion, and he shook his head for an explanation. She rose on her toes and whispered something softly in his ear, nose nuzzling in the crease of his neck to soothe him in his reaction. She felt him stiffen and he froze, eyes lost in a point in front of him. She urged him to say something and his head turned towards her, lips parted with heavy breaths flowing through, and eyes locked on her own.

"You-You're serious?" He asked, softly but hardened. "You're…Pregnant?"

She nodded, thumb rubbing small circles on his hand. He dropped his axe, picked her up, and kissed her.

And piece by piece, he felt himself mending back together.

 **For Timber**

 **It's going to get better.**


End file.
